


The Boy In The Afternoon

by steelrunner



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Paris, From Sex to Love, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Private Investigators, Secret Relationship, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8534224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelrunner/pseuds/steelrunner
Summary: "Mr. Shirogane?" Lance said. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid you're about to be shot."A fusion fic inspired by the Audrey Hepburn film "Love In The Afternoon".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The plot is borrowed almost wholesale from the movie, but it should be easy enough to understand without watching it. Fair warning, I did next to no research, and this thing is about as based in history as a Disney film.

There was a client in Papa’s office when Lance returned home from practice. Not unusual since it was approaching evening, so he proceeded upstairs to the kitchen, heaving his cello case up over one shoulder as he went. The strains of Haydn’s 88th Symphony were still ringing in his ears - the orchestra’s performance couldn’t come soon enough.

Lance had made something of a game of noting when Papa’s clients arrived. Some made their appearances in the dead of night, as if hiring a private detective was some sordid activity; those, Papa pointed towards the hours on his sign and sent away. The wives came during the day, often with a bundle of laundry or basket of groceries over their arm. Judging from the outraged noises coming from below, this one was a husband.

Papa’s clear voice carried up the stairwell. “Please, monsieur, calm down. Would you like some brandy?”

There followed some spluttering noises, and then a man’s voice, saying, “What was his name, again?”

Lance stopped, gently setting his cello against the wall and leaning over the bannister to listen.

“His name is Takashi Shirogane. Japanese - lights, automobiles, ships - quite wealthy.” Here, Papa’s voice grew amused. “Business always seems to pick up for me whenever he visits Paris.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“A week or so. They meet for supper every night, in his suite at the Ritz.”

“The Ritz…”

“Yes, every night at 9 o’clock. They have dinner brought to them, and a small band of musicians to accompany it. At ten exactly, the musicians are sent away - Good lord, monsieur, put that away!”

Lance jumped at the alarm in Papa’s voice, and his eyes widened at the distinctive click of a revolver’s cylinder locking into place. When there was no immediate retort or shout, he relaxed slightly.

Papa’s voice came again. “Please, monsieur, I beg you not to shoot your son. Your own flesh and blood - “

“No, no!” the man. “I love my son - I would never hurt him.”

“Then you must not shoot yourself.”

“I have done nothing wrong.” The man’s tone became firm. “What is the suite number?”

“314.”

“And the musicians leave at 10 o’clock?”

“That is so.”

A resolute pause. “Well then, Monsieur Marrero, I am sorry to say I will be taking away from some of your future business.”

Lance scrambled back from the bannister as the office door opened. Papa exited, followed by a man of his own age dressed in a dark suit; Lance could see the bulge of the gun inside his jacket. As soon as the front door closed behind the man, Papa turned, frowning up at Lance. Lance just smiled, as sheepishly as he could manage. 

Papa sighed. “Well, at least you’re becoming more subtle than listening at keyholes.” He started up the stairs, and Lance picked up his cello. “Come, let’s make dinner.”

He stayed silent all through the preparations, and as they were setting out the salad, Lance blurted out, “Well, are you going to tell me anything?”

Papa gave Lance a sidelong look. Lance knew what was going through his mind; he was trying to decide whether or not the case was ‘suitable’ enough for Lance’s ears. 

“And what will you do if I don’t?”

“Read your files later, of course.”

Papa sighed again, and shook his head. “I suppose you are a man now - if not of the world, then of the city. Tell me, what did you think you heard?”

“It sounded like he was tracking his wife’s affair,” Lance said. “But what do his children have to do with anything?”

“Ah,” Papa said, holding up a finger. “Not exactly a child. You see, that man sent his oldest son here from London to be educated. And knowing how university students tend to become embroiled in all kinds of mischief, he paid me to keep an eye on him. I’m afraid he got a rather bigger surprise than he was expecting.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Lance said. He sat down at the table. “Then the industrialist - oh, that makes much more sense.”

Papa followed suit. “As you heard, he was rather naturally upset. Not the least because the man has to be almost a decade or more older than the boy.” He picked up a basket of bread and offered it to Lance, who took a piece. “That Shirogane fellow does account for no few of my assignments. A good businessman, a great hedonist - “

“But Papa, what was that man going to do? It didn’t sound like he was fooling around.”

Papa grew silent. “You wish for an honest assessment?”

“Of course.”

“Then, I believe he will proceed from here to the Ritz, wait until ten o’clock, and shoot Mr. Shirogane.”

Lance choked on a mouthful of food. “And you let him _leave_?”

“Yes,” Papa said. “That, my boy, is all speculation. Note that he never said anything of that nature - merely implied it. And he is a man of some standing. If I go to the police with my suspicions, it will be my word against his, and should he hear about it, it would not go well for me.” He pointed his fork at Lance. “I don’t want you to repeat it to anyone, do you hear?”

Lance opened his mouth, then closed it, suddenly regretting that he had asked. “…Yes, Papa.”

“Good.”

They ate silently for a while, and eventually their conversation found a way back to easier topics, like Lance’s upcoming performance with the rest of the Paris Orchestra and the more ordinary grievances suffered by Papa’s clients. Near the end of dinner, Lance asked, “Papa, do you mind if I use the telephone once we’ve cleaned up?”

“No,” Papa said, and then wariness overtook his expression. “What for?”

Lance heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Papa, I’m just going to call Tsuyoshi. I want to see if he can drive me home from our practice tomorrow. All that walking can be tiresome.”

Papa relaxed. “Of course, of course.”

Afterwards, Papa withdrew to his dark room, presumably to develop photos from some of his other cases, and Lance went to the telephone in the living room. He waited impatiently, tapping his foot with every ring, but when he finally spoke he kept his voice low. “Hello? Hunk? It’s me, Lance. I have two questions for you: can you come to my house, and how long of a drive is it from here to the Hotel Ritz?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not actually expect to come back and finish this, but at long last the second chapter is finished! Still can't make any promises about an update schedule, but I'll try my best.

“Lance?”

Lance squinted down at the pile of papers in his lap, trying to read in the scarce light of the streetlamps. They flickered in and out as the car sped along, but he was able to make out a few key words: _scandal_ , _Stockholm_ , and _twins_.

“Lance!”

“Mm?” Lance dragged his attention away from the papers and turned to Hunk, sitting in the driver’s seat next to him. “What is it?”

“Are you going to tell me anything about what’s going on here? You didn’t say a word about the Ritz during practice.”

“It…came up suddenly,” Lance said. He checked his wristwatch. 9:35 already, damn. “And I can’t tell you, I promised my father.”

Hunk gave Lance a baffled look. “What, are you running an errand for him?”

“Something like that.” Lance reassembled the papers into a neat stack, sliding them back into a folder with ‘Takashi Shirogane’ stenciled along the spine. He had snuck it out of Papa’s office before he told him he was going to bed, and before he had actually gone out the side door where Hunk was waiting with his car. Mr. Shirogane was certainly a busy man - the file held documentation of at least a dozen different affairs strung out from Tokyo to Rome to New York City, on top of articles related to his various industries. The few pictures it contained were dark and grainy, but still clear enough to suggest a handsome face. Lance had to wonder if it was one worth all this grievance.

A few more precious minutes passed before Hunk pulled onto a well-lit boulevard, the polished facade of the Ritz sitting proudly in the middle of it all. He had barely parked the car before Lance scrambled out of it, calling out a hurried “Thank you!” as he rushed inside. 

Suite 314 - that was sure to be on the third floor. Lance dashed through the lobby, weaving around bellboys and baggage carts, and headed straight up the marble stairs. Just as he reached the third landing, his eyes lit on the suite door directly across from him, the number 314 set on it in gleaming brass. With a relieved exhale, he started forward into the hallway.

And flinched back just in time, as he spotted the man from Papa’s office lurking not three feet down the hall. He had his back to Lance, seemingly staring off into the distance. How was Lance supposed to get past him?

Lance bit his lip. How many times had Papa done stakeouts in this very hotel? He had described the rooms to Lance before: opulently decorated and equipped with every modern convenience, each suite large enough to house a family of five…and each pair linked by a connecting door.

With a deep breath, Lance darted across the hall to the suite door next to 314, fumbling with the doorknob - and miracle of miracles, it opened.

Lance ducked inside and swept the door shut just as the man began to turn. The suite was empty, save for a sleeping puppy curled up on one of the sofas. There was the sound of running water from the bathroom. A quick check of the connecting door to 314 proved it to be locked, and Lance looked around frantically, unsure of what to do next.

That was when his eyes fell on the twin doors to the balcony.

Reading about something like this in Papa’s files would have seemed romantic - he would certainly never be able to think of it that way again, Lance thought as he stepped neatly over the balcony railing and onto the thin stone ledge running along the hotel wall. _Don’t look down. As long as you don’t look down…_ He moved along at a slow pace, groping for handholds as he went. The next balcony was dark, and the next, and Lance thought he would lose his nerve when he finally found one lit up, the doors open - and yes, the sound of music coming from inside the suite.

Hands trembling, Lance hauled himself over the railing and onto the balcony, peeking in through the gauzy curtain. There was a small band of musicians by the opposite door, playing what sounded like some Viennese waltz, and two men dancing slowly, clasped to each others’ chest. Lance immediately recognized the taller of the two from the photographs in the file. That was Takashi Shirogane, alright.

Carefully, he brushed the curtains aside and stepped into the room. The musicians’ eyes widened, but they said nothing, and continued to play. The dancing couple had both of their eyes closed, and took no notice of him whatsoever.

Lance worked up the courage to clear his throat. “Mr. Shirogane?” 

No response. Lance reached out, hesitated, and then grabbed Shirogane firmly by the shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “Mr. Shirogane?" Lance said. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid you're about to be shot."

The two wheeled apart, blinking in shock, and Lance’s attention was immediately caught. Oh, but those pictures had done Shirogane no justice at all. He’d seemed handsome, yes, but there was a vivacity to his living features that storybook princes never seemed to have, not spoiled at all by the thin scar across his nose. The only hint of gray in that black hair was a single shock along his brow, and those keen dark eyes…

Shirogane stared at him wide-eyed, gaze flicking between Lance and the door. “Shot?”

The music stuttered, and died away.

“Keep on playing!” Lance motioned at the musicians, and they obeyed.

“Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“I came through the balcony.” Lance looked at the other man. Up close, he wasn’t much older than Lance himself. “I had to - your father is waiting outside. With a gun.”

The boy inhaled sharply, and Shirogane set his jaw. Lance looked back and forth between them, taking in their finely cut evening clothes. 

"...I might have an idea, though."

—

Not twenty seconds after the musicians had filed out of the suite, the man burst through the doors, throwing them open with a loud crash. Lance could hear the man's uneven breathing, but he stayed seated on the couch, pressed against Shirogane’s side and facing away from the door.

“That will be all for tonight, Mr. Shirogane,” the man spat, with the air of a well-rehearsed line.

Shirogane merely looked over his shoulder. “Excuse me? Do I know you?”

“Only by proxy,” the man said. “This, this _depravity_ has gone on long enough. Now kindly disconnect yourself from my son!”

Shirogane pulled his arm back from where it had been draped over Lance’s shoulder, standing up and facing the man. Lance turned to look, and found the man staring at him with stunned surprise, gun limp in his hand. “Henri?”

“Why, no,” Lance said, trying not to fidget. The boy’s jacket was a little tight in the shoulders, but it fit him well enough. “I will say, monsieur, you don’t resemble my father at all.”

The man turned back to Shirogane. “You are Takashi Shirogane? And this is suite 314?”

“Yes, on both counts.”

“No - this can’t - ” The man shook his head. “He must be here. I demand that you produce him immediately - !” His ranting trailed off as strode past them, farther back into the suite. Lance could hear him rifling through the bedroom, pushing aside curtains and opening drawers. 

Shirogane followed him, standing between the entryway and the couch. “Feel free to look under the bed, too,” he said, perfectly calm. “I lost my left slipper under there a week ago.” Behind his back, Shirogane made a quick little gesture, and Lance rose from the couch and went out onto the balcony. Henri seemed to be getting along alright - he was just now climbing onto the balcony of the empty suite, and he flashed Lance a quick smile before slipping through the doors. There was the faint sound of a dog yipping, but no screams, so Lance assumed he must have gotten out the suite door with no problems.

Lance hurriedly moved away from the balcony in time for the man to walk back into the room, accompanied by Shirogane.

“If this really is Suite 314 - and you’re telling the truth - ” He looked at Lance. “When I saw you come into the room, I could have sworn you were my son!”

“Well, that does happen when one jumps to conclusions,” Lance managed to get out. How was Shirogane staying so calm? 

The man squinted hard at Lance’s jacket; then nodded, reluctantly. Any resolve he had once had seemed to fade away in the face of his mistake, and he looked towards the exit. Shirogane’s gaze followed his. “Are you satisfied?”

“Yes, yes,” the man said. He edged towards the door, not quite able to meet either of their eyes. “Uh - goodnight, gentlemen!”

The tension left the room in a great rush as the door slammed shut behind him. Lance couldn’t hold back a huge sigh of relief, and Shirogane burst out laughing, smiling at him. _Oh, do that again…_

Shirogane shook his head in disbelief. "Thank you. I don’t think I can say that too much - if it wasn’t for you, I’d have been dead by now, surely.” 

“No trouble at all, Mr. Shirogane,” Lance said. “What about that boy, Henri? Will he be alright?”

“Henri’s very bright - he’s doubtless already on the way back to his apartment. He certainly doesn't intend to remain under his father’s thumb for much longer." 

"So - do you have plans to reunite once he’s free to do so?”

Shirogane raised his eyebrows, but he answered with no rancor. “No, our relationship was more of a - happy accident. Nothing serious."

“Ah.” Lance became abruptly aware of the tightness of the jacket. He stripped it off and folded it over the arm of the couch, leaving him in his shirtsleeves once again. “In that case, I should probably be on my way. Goodnight, Mr. Shirogane.”

“Wait, you can’t go like this.” Lance’s heart jumped as Shirogane caught him by the sleeve. “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s not important.”

Shirogane’s mouth quirked in a smile. “Well, fair’s fair. You seem to know who I am.”

“Of course,” Lance said. “Takashi Shirogane, Japanese, lights, automobiles, ships - you aren’t terribly discreet.”

Shirogane pulled him closer. “How did you know about tonight? Why did you warn me?”

“Why did I warn you? Why wouldn’t I?”

Shirogane opened his mouth - and a knock at the door interrupted him. Both of them froze.

“Who is it?” Shirogane called.

The man’s voice answered. “It’s, ah, me again.”

Shirogane quickly guided Lance back to the couch, seating them in the same way, and before Lance could protest, tugged him closer and pressed their mouths together.

Distantly, Lance heard the door open and the man walk into the bedroom. “I, uh, I forgot something,” he said, and Shirogane pulled away long enough for Lance to see the man emerge with his gun in one hand - he must have put it down during the search. “I’ll - see myself out.”

“Yes,” Shirogane said coolly, and the man flushed, hurrying out of the room. The lock clicked shut behind him.

Dazed, Lance put his fingers to his lips, surprised at the lingering heat, then caught himself and jumped up. “I - I really do have to go.”

“Not now, it wouldn’t look right,” Shirogane said. He also rose, but made no sudden motions, not trying to draw Lance any closer. “He might still be suspicious - he could be watching the room.”

Lance cast a despairing look at his watch. “It’s just - it’s getting late.”

“Late? This is Paris,” Shirogane said. “Sometimes I don’t think this city is fully alive except at night.” A canny look came over his face. “Maybe I can get the musicians back.”

“Oh, no!” Lance said. “There’s no need for that, really.”

“Are you sure? They can be surprisingly helpful, at times. It’s amazing what a few skilled musicians can do for the atmosphere, especially when you aren’t particularly charming.”

“Not particularly charming,” Lance repeated, lips tugging into a smile against his will. “Do you take your musicians with you when you travel?”

“No, no,” Shirogane said. He walked over to the sideboard, picking up a bottle and two glasses. “Except once - I had them flown out to Stockholm. It was an emergency.”

“Stockholm - that must have been the twins, yes?”

“Yes.” Shirogane gave him a surprised look. “Forgive me, but aren’t you a little young to know about something like that?”

“I was about to say the same thing,” Lance said. “Except, aren’t you a little old?”

“Cruel, to save a man’s life and then wound him so," Shirogane said, holding a hand over his heart. He held out a glass, and Lance took it.

“I’ll take it back if you will.”

Shirogane made a gesture of agreement. 

Lance took a sip from his glass, for bravery, and found it dry and sweetly tart, bubbles popping on his tongue. “What is this? Champagne?”

“Domestic champagne, yes,” Shirogane said, his eyes following Lance. “I’ll have more of it, if you join me for dinner tomorrow evening.”

“Tomorrow night - that’s quite impossible.” Lance put his glass down on the table, trying to shake himself out of whatever flirtatious state of mind he had slipped into. He kept finding himself toeing the line. “It’s far too late already - I really must be going.”

He turned away, and Shirogane followed him to the door, placing one hand flat against it as Lance spun to face him. “Can’t I at least take you home?”

“No, definitely not.” Lance could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his fingertips, a flush of warmth spreading across his face.

“Why? Are you married?”

“No!”

“Do you live with someone? A man?”

“…Yes.” Well, in a technical sense, that was true.

“Is he the jealous type?”

Lance spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Let’s just say if he knew I were here…”

“It's still your decision, is it not?" Shirogane smiled - and damn him, how did he make it look so sweet when he said such wicked things? “Tomorrow’s my last night in Paris. I’d hate to spend it alone.”

“Perhaps you could fly in the twins, from Stockholm.”

“Ah, but you’re far more attractive than both of them put together.” Shirogane tilted his head. “What time? 9 o’clock?”

“That’s too late.”

“8 o’clock? 5 o’clock?” As Lance shook his head, Shiro added, “3 o’clock, then.”

“In the afternoon? When do you work?” 

“Whenever I don’t have anything more important to do. Can you make it?”

“I was told you were something of a hedonist,” Lance said, unable to stop the words spilling out over his tongue. 

Shirogane smiled all the wider. The space between them had lessened somehow, when Lance wasn’t looking - their faces were only a breath apart, a gap that could be closed in less than a second. “I’d be happy to offer you proof - tomorrow, at 3 o’clock.”

Lance could barely manage a nod.

Shirogane pushed the door open, putting a hand on Lance’s back as he ushered him out. Lance paused in the hallway to look back at him. “Then, goodnight Mr. Shirogane.”

Shirogane nodded at him, something bright and secretive in his eyes. “Goodnight - blue-eyed boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to drop messages and/or writing prompts at my [Tumblr](http://mistlethace.tumblr.com).


End file.
